First Contact
As the weeks went by and the days grew shorter, there followed many more gift exchanges between the two, and often, just as the twilight fell, she heard the music of the silver pennywhistle, drifting in on the breeze, and her mind was filled with images of other times and other places, and the tunes carried stories to her, and remembrances, too… and as time went on, she experienced something else, entirely unexpected. As the season drifted from late Summer into late Fall, Áine found herself changing, and she was often very tired. Her bones began to ache whenever it rained, and rising each morning became more and more of an effort. She did her best to take care of the animals and herself, but each day it seemed a little harder than the day before.
Áine bundled more clothes on, feeling chilled to the bone even on warm, sunny days. She kept the fire burning in the stove in the kitchen to ward off the chill she felt. The swan eggs had hatched and she did her best to care for them, feeding them by hand. She treated herself with herbs and various magical concoctions, but nothing seemed to stop the aging, and as each day went by, she felt herself getting older and older. Was this aging an effect of living in a place where the Old Magics flowed freely? She did not know, but it worried her enough to send a letter to her friend Dagoba, the fortuneteller, by messenger pigeon.
Dearest Dagoba,
I think of you often, and I hope you are well. I have no idea how long I have been gone or how far I have traveled, but I am currently making my home somewhere in the Windlass Mountains, on an island in the middle of a lake. The place seems cozy enough, there is a beautiful garden here, and a very large house built within a hill. It’s prior resident, one Conaire MacNeesh, Third Lord of Calatin, (perhaps you knew of him?) has provided for, seemingly, every need a person could ever have here. Enclosed please find his letter. If you could favor me by filing this letter with the court in the Akkadian Hall of Echoes, I would be most appreciative, as I am not sure when I will be in Akkadia next, though certainly not before Spring, I’m sure.
On the whole, this place is wonderfully magical and I am happy here. There is someone else living out here in the mountains, though. I haven’t met him face to face yet, and he often brings me wild game and other things he collects on his wanderings.
I do, however, seem to have a small problem and that is that I am rapidly aging. I’ve used every herb I can think of to try and counteract the effect, but have managed to do nothing more than slow its pace somewhat. I am thinking it has something to do with the effect of my Being combined with the Magics here, and I must learn to work with them… and quickly, it seems.
I do miss you and the DreamMistress. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have you two here with me for an afternoon of tea and gossip, though! Hehehe.
With Love,
Áine
She carefully rolled up her letter and MacNeesh’s and put them into the leather tube, instructing the pigeon where to take it and whom to deliver it to. The pigeon promptly flew off in the direction of Akkadia.
The garden was prepared for the coming winter. She’d preserved the harvest by drying and bottling what she could to see her through until Spring, so there was little she needed to do each day other than keep the fire burning and the animals fed and watered. It wasn’t long before the snows came into the mountains and the lake froze over. She spent more time in the libraries, gradually working her way through shelf after shelf of books, though there were many years’ worth of reading here.
By the dark of the year at winter solstice, her hair had become fine and white as a spider’s web. Her hands were as gnarled as tree branches, and her back was bent and crooked. With the aid of an alder staff she shuffled throughout the house painfully slow. She didn’t know it but out there, in the wood, as the season changed, He grew ever younger, more muscular and athletic, able to walk or run for many leagues without tiring. He hunted and often left venison, elk, and other wild game at her doorstep. The two of them having formed a sort of silent partnership out here in the wilderness, and never having met or spoken face to face. She was, of course, curious as to what He looked like, but she didn’t force Him to show Himself to her. He, of course, had already seen Her and had been observing the changes in both himself and Her throughout the season. They both kept their distance.
One morning in the midst of the coldest winter the mountains had ever seen, He noticed no smoke coming from the stovepipe of Her home, nor did He see the old woman shuffling about to feed the birds as she always did. He set his rabbit snares out in the woods, and then went back to the front door of Her house and knocked loudly.
No one came to the door.
He pounded on the door a bit more, but still there was no answer from within. He stood there for long minutes… half turning away to go back into the wood, then turning back to face the door. He was in a quandry about what to do. He had to know if She was alright, and He knew that if He returned to the wood without knowing, He would constantly be returning to see if She’d come outside or lit the fire anyway, and His whole day would be useless. He stood there debating with himself a few minutes more, and then tried the door knob and found it was unlocked. Very quietly he crept into Her home, and room by room, He searched for Her.
He found Her at last in one of the bedrooms lying in a huge bed covered with a very large pile of hand-stitched quilts. She was cold to the touch, unconscious, and just barely breathing. He almost didn’t recognize Her at first, She was very aged, yet still beautiful in His eyes, for though He hadn’t yet said it to Her, He had through the months been falling in love with Her ever since She’d first come into the glen in late summer.
Quickly he filled a tub in one of the bathrooms with water fed by a hot spring within the mountain. He raced back to the bedroom and tore the quilts off the bed, and then stripped the clothes off of her. He carried her naked into the bathroom and gently lowered her into the water, where he massaged and bathed her body until the skin began turning a healthy pink. By this time, Áine was conscious and aware of her circumstances… and that He was there, as well as what He was doing. She was too weak to protest or show any embarassment, and likely wouldn’t have anyway. This was the first she’d seen of Him, and what she saw was not at all unpleasant.
He was young and handsome, strong, yet so very gentle with her. And when she looked into His eyes, she Knew that this was the one who had been waiting for her here, and that she would never again be happy without Him. And she saw that same look there in His eyes. Still, she was so old and He so young… it seemed an unbearable cruelty that they should find each other in this way, and a feeling of profound sadness crept into her heart.
“How can you bear to touch me… as I am… like this?” she hoarsely whispered to him.
“Shhhh now, lass,… we’ll speak later. Right now, you need warmth and food in you,” He said in a gentle whisper, “Will you be fine here if I let you soak for a bit and cook us something in your kitchen?”
“Aye,” she smiled and slid further down into the water, and He washed her hair for her, and then went off to the kitchen.
[This part of the story crosses over into Mal’ahk’s character, Dagoba… and this is what she wrote in her story…]
Dagoba shook her head and chuckled quietly to herself after Akila departed. As fond as I was of her mother, she thought musingly, I must admit Akila and Gja give me more hope for the future of this Isle than anyone has in a long time. I love them both as if they were my own daughters.
She was interrupted in her musings by a flutter of wings. Looking up, she noticed a messenger pigeon fluttering just outside the window of the crystalline ziggurat-like structure, attempting to find foothold on the thin sill before giving up and perching on the gradiated step below it. With a sigh, Dagoba heaved herself to her feet and hobbled over to the window.
The pigeon hopped up onto the sill of the open window, cooing softly, turning it’s head this way and that as it regarded her with bright black eyes. “Well, goodness,” said Dagoba in an amused voice as she offered an arm to the pigeon. Obediently, the trained bird settled itself on the old woman’s arm and waited patiently while Dagoba removed it’s message.
She read Aine’s letter quickly, then a second time more slowly as a warm smile touched her lips. Though it had been a good many years in her subjective time since she’d last seen the Faerie woman, she’d corresponded with Aine often and had been concerned with the letters had suddenly ceased a few years ago. It made her heart joyful to realize her old friend was still in the Windlass Mountains.
With a start, she realized that this was the first letter she’d had since Akila and Gja had taken over the Isle of Dreams, and it was very possible Aine had no idea that so much had changed. “Well, that’s going to be a tricky bit of news to impart,” she said out loud to nobody in particular.
She patted her pockets, then smiled at the pigeon apologetically. “You’ll have to come back to my shop with me, Wingchild,” she told the bird. “And I’ll give you some suet and a comfortable perch whilst I figure out how to send the news to my old friend without giving her heart failure!” The pigeon cooed agreeably and hopped up to Dagoba’s shoulder.
The old woman shuffled out into the sunshine, her gait was slow but to the more observant there was a definite lift to her steps that hadn’t been there this morning.
